


The Ballad of Stoot and Argyle

by Satine89



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Terrance and Phillip as High Schoolers, Angst and Humor, Crack Pairing, Loads and Loads of Characters - Freeform, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satine89/pseuds/Satine89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Terrance Stoot and Phillip Argyle, teenagers at South Park High, find their lives at a turning point when Terrance, spurred by Eric Cartman pranking him at a party, confides to Phillip that he's gay. So begins one of the most tumultuous years of the two boys' lives. </p><p>More pairings to come, in addition to more characters; this is a very long, sprawling fic, and I don't want to give away everything up front!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hanging out at the village green (prologue)

**Author's Note:**

> This was somewhat based on an old Tumblr RP that I was in last year. The RP quickly changed gears to more conventional SP pairings, but this was based on the germ of an idea found early on in the RP. It's gonna be a very long story, but hopefully everyone enjoys it! This is also being published on Fanfiction.net simultaneously.

South Park High School was home to a lot of strange people and weird things, just like South Park Middle School was a hotbed of hormones and testosterone, just like South Park Elementary was a soup of maladjusted prepubescent brats. No one was getting a good education, book-wise, at any institution, no matter what their grades said. The South Park, Colorado schools, however, were a pretty good place to learn about life.

Everyone had their moment in the South Park school system when they realized there was something about their life that was lacking. Some of these epiphanies had to do with love, as most epiphanies in high school were wont to deal with. Some involved future careers, which were likely to be fully out of reach, but there was nothing to stop a dream. And all of the children that passed through eventually came to the conclusion that, no matter what they did, they were ultimately fucked, bound to be crushed by the crippling weirdness of the town they called home.

After a while, they got used to it. They could look at Stanley Marsh and Wendy Testaburger and feel confident that they were the only two leaving. They might add Kyle Broflovski, but there was the issue of his mother and his rebellious adopted brother, two diametrically opposed ends tugging on him. There were a few question marks, though. Maybe Eric Cartman, depending on what ended up happening with Kyle. It was hard for anyone in South Park to imagine the two of them not yelling at each other, embodying their parody of friendship, so if Kyle managed to escape, Eric would probably follow the gangly redhead to wherever he fled. Creepy as that was. Maybe Bebe Stevens, too. Her beauty would either propel her to becoming a famous actress or South Park’s hottest trophy wife.

And then there was those two weird Canadian kids. Phillip Argyle had lived in South Park since he was ten, always distinctly separated from the strangeness around him. While people had increasingly violent freak-outs over minor incidents, Phillip could usually be found watching or listening to old comedy specials, not even aware of the chaos outside. He didn’t have many friends outside of Ike and Kyle Broflovski, despite growing into an absolutely gorgeous teenager with perfect blonde hair and the kind of slim, muscular physique that girls went crazy for. In contrast, Terrance Stoot moved to South Park during his sophomore year of high school, a scattered, mentally shaken teen who mentioned that he’d just suffered through his parents’ divorce and didn’t really want to talk about… anything. He was friendly but quiet, easily rattled, giving Leopold Stotch a run for his money early on in terms of being a human doormat.

But about two weeks into Terrance’s start of the new school year at South Park High, hiding, as usual, behind his long brown hair and a dark-colored beanie and a rather large book about serial killers, his life changed. So did Phillip’s. Phillip and Terrance didn’t operate in the same circles, mostly because neither of them were particularly social people. Phillip spent most of his sophomore year of high school before this point desperately running away from smitten teenage girls. Terrance spent the past two weeks looking very brooding and loner-like underneath bleachers and in hallways. 

But they shared the same homeroom. And on the fateful day of November 10, at 8:35 AM, The Event happened.

Phillip farted. Terrance, from his seat only a few spots up from Phillip in the classroom, awkwardly hiding behind his disheveled appearance and another morbid book of morbidity, glanced at him for a few seconds before he burst out laughing.

The two of them were largely inseparable after that. They bonded over many things – their mutual irritation with school (shown by their less than brilliant grades), their love of comedy and Schadenfreude, being Canadian, their assertion that Celine Dion was easily the most beautiful woman on earth, a shared hate for Facebook, the tendency to not get involved in most of the craziness of their classmates… they had a lot in common, those two. After a month or so, they managed to buy up some time on South Park Public Access and began work on a hyperkinetic mess of pranks and juvenile comedy that they ever-so-creatively called ‘The Terrance and Phillip Show’, which benefitted from being in the slot after the ratings juggernaut that was ‘Huntin and Killin with Jimbo and Ned’. 

The boys themselves began to change noticeably. Terrance was still nice, but he was drawing out of his shell, more willing to talk to those around him, which got Phillip to stop being so pretentious around his classmates. They slowly began to gain popularity for things other than Phillip’s striking blue eyes, and people at the high school were watching their show. Girls were interested in Terrance, something that really confused him. By the time the end of their junior year of high school rolled around, the two of them were inseparable, well-liked, definitely not as neurotic, and deemed worthy enough of being invited to Bebe’s huge end of the year bash. 

Maybe they were making it out of South Park.


	2. he pop bottles and he got the right kind of build

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terrance and Phillip find themselves invited to Bebe Stevens' end-of-the-year party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter was more of just a prologue, so I added this chapter as well, to give people more of a feel for where the story might go. Also, thought I might put an advisory here, this fic has quite a bit of coarse and foul language.

“Bebe’s going to get so drunk.”

Terrance Stoot didn’t disagree with Phillip Argyle’s central thesis. He was a little too focused on driving down one of the narrow South Park streets, hazel eyes darting around, making sure he didn’t hit anyone. For someone with their license, Terrance was a hell of a paranoid driver. Phillip glanced at him curiously, noting the little nod he gave, before smirking.

“…was that agreement or a nervous tic?” Phillip asked.

“Agreement.”

“You can relax a little, guy. You aren’t a bad driver.”

“I hit Eric’s cat.”

“…yes, well, that was unfortunate.”

“It would’ve been unfortunate if it was anyone else’s pet. It was an abomination.”

“You and your fancy words,” Phillip smirked, staring out the window of the small blue sub-compact, dredged up from the mid-80s to serve as Terrance’s mode of transport. The thing was held together with spit and glue, but it worked, if you ignored the fact that the ignition was separated from the steering column, the driver’s side window didn’t open, the cassette player ate cassettes, the running board was falling off… Terrance waved all of these problems off with a simple ‘I don’t have the money to fix it’ when he was asked. Compared to Token’s shining new Mercedes Benz, his car was devil spawn. Probably a bit more comfortable than the Benz, though, Phillip thought with a bit of a smile.

“I’m trying to pass English.”

“By reading the thesaurus?”

“Maybe if you read it, you’d pass too, you ass-ramming fuck-wipe.”

“…fuck-wipe, that’s a new one.”

“It doesn’t have the ring I’d been hoping for,” Terrance admitted, turning down a side-street. The lightly audible sound of teenagers giggling and loud, thudding club music must’ve meant this was the place. Phillip and Terrance had never been to Bebe Steven’s house – she was the head cheerleader, the most popular girl in school, and the pair’s steadfast refusal to seem remotely interested in women didn’t endear them to South Park High’s women. Phillip didn’t know why Terrance wasn’t interested in girls – he always assumed it was scarring from his parent’s divorce. Phillip… well, there were many reasons. 

But being invited to Bebe Steven’s party was a big deal. It meant they were popular, something Terrance, again, didn’t really care about or grasp. He just assumed stay home and ‘get drunk there’. Sarcastic little weirdo.

“They’re playing Skrillex,” Terrance said with a marked disdain.

“What were you hoping for?”

“Anything but Skrillex,” Terrance noted, pulling his Cavalier against a curb across the street from Bebe’s house. Craig Tucker and his sister Ruby were emerging from the house as Terrance pulled up, the two of them arguing heatedly over something. Phillip practically shoved his door open (oh right, the doors didn’t quite work, either) and stepped into the street while Terrance slammed his car door shut, locking up the car and shoving the keys in his pocket. Terrance wore his typical attire, a dark baggy sweater and tight jeans paired off with his black sneakers and matching beanie. Phillip had better dress sense, wearing a light button-down and blue jeans that didn’t make his legs look like toothpicks, but that was Terrance and Phillip for you. They didn’t look a thing like the other.

“Try not to quote that entire television show to anyone,” Phillip said with a laugh as the two of them watched for cars briefly before crossing the street.

“Oh, but it’s so tempting. Those two Newfoundlanders are so funny! And so right about this shit band.” The music was throbbing at this point, perfectly audible from the sidewalk in front of Bebe’s doorstep. 

Phillip glanced at Terrance, a sly smirk on his face. “Try not to cause a scene, Terrance.”

“…oh I won’t. Stan and Wendy are here.”

“…and?”

“Apparently Stan’s hanging out with that tall kid again…”

“The one we accidentally threw paint on?”

“The very same.”

“You won’t cause a scene.”

Terrance’s turn to smirk. The two of them pushed the door to Bebe’s house open, walking in on a throng of people mingling, singing, dancing, and drunkenly maneuvering their way around Bebe’s towering house. Phillip glanced around, a bit in awe of how many people were here, before eyeing Terrance. Terrance’s eyes were similarly floating around the room, looking for –

“BEBE!” he screamed suddenly. It managed to carry over the din around them, and sure enough, a blonde in the opposite corner of the room turned around, perfectly manicured hand on her hip. Bebe’s wild curly locks fell over her shoulder as her concerned face turned into a bright smile. 

“Terrance! Phillip! Get your ass over here! Asses. Ass.” 

“She’s a little drunk,” Phillip told Terrance unnecessarily.

“Shocking.” The two of them slid through the party, sliding past people who said hello to them and an extremely drunk Wendy Testaburger, who probably didn’t recognize them in her distress, eventually settling next to Bebe and her conversation partner, Rebecca Turner. The two of them were dressed similarly, in short dresses with glittery accents, but Rebecca, or Red, seemed more in control of her faculties than Bebe. Bebe immediately pulled Phillip into a tight hug, and then did the same to Terrance. Phillip would’ve laughed at the look on Terrance’s face if Red wasn’t inspecting the two of them so intently.

“Oh my Goood you guys I didn’t think you’d come!” Bebe giggled, picking up her drink from a nearby table, which was pink and matched her nail polish. Phillip smiled smoothly while Terrance tried to out-stare Red. 

“Well, everyone’s here, so…”

“Oh I know! Except Ike. Because he’s like five. And those annoying Goth kids. But like everyone else is here. I don’t know wheeere but they’re totally here. And everyone looks soo good!” Bebe chirped.

Red tore her eyes away from Terrance for a few seconds to glare at Bebe. “How drunk are you?”

“Not much very!” Bebe protested before turning to the boys again. “…you guys should get a drink.”

“I’m driving,” was Terrance’s immediate response.

“I don’t care if y’all stay oover,” Bebe countered.

Phillip wasn’t surprised that Terrance, red-faced and wildly discomfited, wandered away from him at that moment. Phillip watched him with a wry smile before turning back to Bebe.

“…what’d I say?” Bebe asked.

Red rolled her eyes. “The need to get wasted was probably too strong to withstand.”

“Don’t worry about it Bebe,” Phillip responded, ignoring Red. “He’s not offended. He’ll come back.”

.

Terrance grabbed an unopened beer off the kitchen counter, walking past a fairly shaken-up Stan Marsh and a patient as ever Kyle Broflovski in order to get there. Compared to the raucousness that was the sprawling living room, the kitchen was quieter. If still echoing with dubstep music. 

He wasn’t very comfortable with parties. Phillip had a natural charisma, one that Terrance wished he possessed when the cameras were off. He could slide his way through a conversation without upsetting people or getting upset himself. Terrance wasn’t socially inept by any means, but it was hard for him to deal with drunk people. Especially drunk people hitting on him. 

Terrance cracked open his beer and drained a good portion of it, staring out the window into Bebe’s backyard, where Clyde Donovan was attempting to set off a firecracker, much to Token Black’s hysterical dismay. 

See, he had a little secret, buried deep inside his heart. He knew that Phillip didn’t like the artifice of his classmates, especially the girls, who were eternally embroiled in power struggles. The only one immune to it, he said, was Wendy, because she was pretty much one of the guys, always with Stan and a constant thorn in Eric’s side. Terrance agreed with him just to avoid saying the real reason: he just wasn’t interested. Unless the woman was Celine Dion, he would never be - 

“That fucker’s never going to light that firework,” a rough voice from behind Terrance said loudly. Terrance narrowed his eyes and turned around.

“I was busy having an introspective moment, Eric,” Terrance informed the teen behind him. Terrance wasn’t as familiar with Eric Cartman’s laundry list of sins as Phillip was – Terrance wasn’t even around when the now-hulking teenager was obese instead of muscular. He mildly tolerated Eric for a few reasons – not wanting to die was a pretty good one. A sense of remorse over killing his cat, there was that reasoning. Finding him extremely attractive, a fucked-up but still valid reason.

“You can think?”

The ego boost in realizing he was smarter than Eric would ever be, reason number four. Terrance rolled his eyes, glancing back out the window. Clyde had just managed to light his shoe on fire. A small smile slipped onto Terrance’s face before he turned back, not entirely surprised to see the brunette still behind him. Pulling a strand of hair out of his face, Terrance asked blankly, “you still here?”

“You never answered my question, you fucking fag.”

Terrance narrowed his eyes. “That’s not very nice.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be, Stoot,” Eric replied testily.

Terrance stared at him for a second before realizing that, no, Eric really wasn’t going to go anywhere until he answered the completely asinine question. “…yes, I can think.”

“…so what do you think? About that?” Eric gestured to the window, where Token had just dumped a beer on Clyde’s foot to douse the fire. Clyde was flailing around like a madman, and Tweek Tweak had just jumped into their madness and was now yanking on his shaggy blonde hair and freaking out. 

“…Daniel Tosh would be very interested in a recording,” Terrance answered honestly.

“You’re kind of fucked-up.”

Terrance gaped at Eric. “…oh yeah, you’re totally fucking normal. And I didn’t say I approved of it, just that he’d probably show it if he had a copy.”

Eric raised a curious eyebrow at Terrance, who simply stared back, unsure of what Eric was thinking about. For the few things that Terrance liked about Eric, there were far more things that set him ill at ease about the teenager, like the fact that he played lacrosse for the school team and could probably snap Terrance in half. Or that in moments like this, the idea of not being able to read Eric chilled Terrance to the bone.

“…where’s your boyfriend?” Eric finally asked, glancing around.

“He’s not my – Jesus, there’s no point with you. I don’t know where Phillip is.” Terrance went back to watching the macabre scene unfolding, draining another third of his beer in one gulp, frustrated. Bad as he felt about killing Eric’s cat, he sure as hell didn’t feel bad for Eric. Just the cat. He stared out the window, looking at Clyde trying to hug Tweek into some sort of calm submission and utterly failing, before realizing that Eric was still staring at the back of his head.

“I can see your reflection in the window, fuck-wipe.”

“…fuck-wipe, that’s a new one.”

“It works perfectly for you.”

“There a reason you’re still here?”

“You’re blocking the beer.”

That he was. Terrance frowned, moving away from the torn-apart cardboard box of Budweiser and striding out of the kitchen without so much as a second look. Worming his way back into the living room, he settled next to Phillip easily, who was talking to Wendy. Or, more accurately, Wendy was ranting to him about how much she wanted to throttle that curly-haired Goth kid’s throat for trying to get Stan back into their cult, and Phillip was uncomfortably nodding and subtly stealing sips of Wendy’s drink, to prevent her from getting drunker. Phillip was too nice sometimes.

Wendy glanced at Terrance and smiled wearily. Normally, Wendy was a very pretty girl, mainly because she was herself, lightly curling her raven-coloured hair only because she liked the way it looked. She’d worn a nice purple sweater, a plum-coloured skirt, and black tights with dark boots tonight, and would look beautiful if it wasn’t for her running mascara and alcohol-flushed cheeks. 

“You look annoyed,” she noted. Even drunk and depressed, she was perceptive.

“Eric,” Terrance responded simply.

“He has that effect.” Wendy turned back to Phillip. “I just don’t get it. I mean, Stan doesn’t understand why I’m upset that he’d associate with them, even as an acquaintance. It’s their lifestyle. Stan can’t risk giving up sports and throwing all that away by smoking and drinking coffee and stabbing himself –”

“Pretty sure they don’t stab themselves,” Terrance offered. Phillip glanced at him, as if to say that he’d already tried to bring that point up. Terrance shrunk a bit before shrugging. “…well, does he know how you feel about it?”

“Sort of,” Wendy admitted, wiping her running nose with her sleeve. “He was just all, ‘I can’t just ignore him’. He’s too nice.”

“Well, if they weren’t trying to get him back into their clique –” Phillip offered before a voice outside of the conversation cut him off.

“SPIN THE BOTTLE IS A GREAT IDEA RED!” Bebe’s loud voice shrieked in delight, carrying over the collected madness of the party. An immediate hushed silence fell over the party’s inhabitants, most of whom were fairly inebriated at this point. The only people who looked remotely sober were Kyle, still in the corner with Stan; Phillip and Terrance themselves; Eric Cartman, who poked his head out of the kitchen to see what was going on; and Leopold Stotch, aka Butters, aka the guy sitting on the couch and telling stories about his new kitten to anyone who would listen.

“No it's not!” Red yelled back, but the damage was done. Ruby Tucker procured a bottle. Wendy slid onto the ground as everyone else began to move in a circle, pulling nervously at the hem of her skirt. Sensing some sort of cosmic disturbance, or depression, or something that needed a little dose of livening up, Kenny McCormick took the seat next to her, telling her that if someone ended up being forced to kiss her, he would punch them in the face. Terrance noticed Wendy smile ever so slightly at Kenny’s kindness, which was nice. Kenny was a bit of a loser, a grungy guy who spent more time getting high than actually doing anything of worth, but he really did try to make sure his friends were all right. 

Terrance sat down next to Phillip, and wasn’t surprised to see Kyle take the seat next to him. “Hey buddy.”

Kyle nodded in response, wrapping a finger around a tight red ringlet of hair. “Hey Terrance. Phillip.”

Phillip smiled at him before his facial expression slid away. “How’s Stan?”

“In the bathroom. I don’t think he can handle the fact that someone certain is playing this game.”

The three of them uneasily turned away from each other as Bebe took a seat in the only available spot in the oval. Almost everyone at the party was in the circle, save Leopold, who was watching from the couch and telling the boy he sat next to, the easygoing blonde Bradley Biggle, that he wasn’t a big fan of Spin the Bottle, especially when so many people were drunk. Bradley seemed to agree. Stan also avoided the circle, as did the three idiots flailing around outside. Only Terrance noticed their absence.

Bebe put the bottle in the center of the large circle, grinning. “I know it’s like soooooo junior high, but Spin the Bottle, you know, I think it’ll be super fun and all that!”

Everyone around Terrance, Phillip, and Kyle were too drunk to disagree. Bebe continued. “So you know, regular rules and all that shiiiit. Spin the bottle, truth or dare, blah blaaaah blah.” Without much in the way of other direction, Bebe spun the bottle. It landed on Craig. Craig was dared to drink three shots of whiskey in a row. And so on and so forth. Terrance was not a huge fan of the game, especially with so many people so inebriated. Though it was funny as hell to see Kenny rip his shirt off and throw it in Red’s face, simply for her suggesting that she might take a Truth over a Dare. 

Terrance and Phillip amused themselves by making dumb faces at each other and giggling for a great portion of the game. It was during one of these stupid little gags that the empty vodka bottle landed on Terrance. 

The room immediately erupted into snickers and laughs and gasps and other annoying sounds. Terrance frowned; he hadn’t even seen who –

“Truth or dare, fuck-wipe?”

Of course. Terrance glanced up at Eric, arms crossed, smiling like he’d just hit some sort of proverbial jackpot. Phillip turned his icy blue eyes to Terrance, slightly concerned, but Terrance wasn’t going to let Eric ask him more dumb questions. The time for questioning was over. 

“Dare,” Terrance responded coolly. The catcalling immediately dispelled itself into silence, and Terrance realized, upon noticing the way Eric was practically leering at him, that maybe he should’ve stuck with dumb questions. Phillip put a hand on his shoulder, trying to show moral support but only making Terrance more aware of how idiotic his decision was. Maybe if he was plastered, this would be easier.

“…dude, you’re going to end up dead,” Kenny helpfully told Terrance. 

“Shut up,” Wendy snapped at him before collapsing into her shirtsleeve. “Oh my God I’m such a fucking mess…”

Eric was thinking. Terrance did everything but look at him, knowing that whatever Eric made him do would probably ensure he was never invited to another party again in his life.

“If I videotape this, we could put it on the show,” Phillip whispered in his ear, which made Terrance crack a little bit of a smile and look at him with bright eyes. Well, that sounded like an avenue that would make his eventual humiliation worth it.

“Assuming it passes FCC laws and won’t –” Terrance began to whisper back.

“Kiss me.”

Terrance narrowed his eyes at Phillip before realizing that Phillip hadn’t said that. Not that Terrance would, anyways… that was weird, they were best friends. So, it was… Terrance’s eyes snapped back to Eric, who was still practically leering at him.

“…huh?” Terrance asked, brilliantly.

“I was trying to think of something that would really piss you off, and tearing you away from your boyfriend seemed like the best idea,” Eric explained.

Terrance pinched the bridge of his nose. “We are not dating.”

“Fine. Then I relied on the fact that you loathe me and it would be humiliating for you.”

“Terrance, you should really just do what he says, before he gets a worse idea,” Kyle said to him, cryptically. The tittering and madness of their classmates went completely ignored by Terrance as he shrugged irritably, stood up, wandered up to Eric, threw himself onto the ground in front of the guy, and, taking a pause to fervently hope that Eric did not attempt to bite his lips or his tongue or spit in his mouth or something awful, pressed his lips to the other teen’s.

The silence, all two seconds of it, was deafening. Terrance pulled away as quickly as he could manage, not even looking at Eric’s triumphant, humiliation-bent expression as he stood up and moved back to his seat in the circle. Or, you know, what he assumed to be Eric’s triumphant, humiliation-bent expression. Terrance didn’t even bother to look at him the rest of the night. 

Why give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d been upset by this whole thing, even if it wasn’t for the reasons he assumed?


	3. i don't wanna think anymore.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In two different parts of town, Terrance and Eric reveal a few secrets about themselves.

Phillip undid the top button on his shirt as he got into Terrance’s car. That party had been a bit of a disaster for Terrance. Phillip’s dare, to pull off his pants, was really not a big deal. Almost everyone in the junior class of South Park High had seen him naked at least once on the public-access show. Terrance, though, hadn’t stopped fuming since Cartman pulled one over on him. It was pretty sinister, for being so innocuous.

“…sorry about that whole mess,” Phillip said, throwing his pants into the back seat. “He’s a douche.”

Terrance jumped into the front seat of the car, going through his usual ignition ritual with a severe scowl on his face. “You think?”

Phillip sighed, undoing another button on his shirt after putting on his seat belt. “…well, you know him.”

“He probably found out I killed his cat.”

“No, I think he would’ve asked to chop your hand off for that one.”

“No, I think publicly outing me was good enough.”

Phillip stared out the window, barely registering this. “Yeah.” But as the words began to sink in, Phillip felt his eyes widen, and he immediately became aware of the choking tension in the car. Terrance was staring straight ahead, driving as if his entire existence depended on it, an expression of unadulterated pain etched onto his face. 

“…what?” Phillip asked in a startled tone.

Terrance glared straight ahead, stopping just in time at a red light. “Rectum-shitting uncle fucker must have figured it out or something.”

“…Eric Cartman being an asshole is nothing new. I don’t think anyone will think you’re –”

“But what if they do?”

Phillip leaned his elbow against the door, playing with his hair to keep his hands busy. He stared at Terrance for a while, watching him drive angrily to, hopefully, one of their houses, and not into the interior of a ditch. That would make the situation even worse. Suddenly, Terrance made a choking noise as he turned onto the side street, towards Phillip’s house.

“What?” Phillip immediately asked.

“You hate me,” Terrance responded. Phillip would say it was the alcohol talking, but one beer five hours prior wasn’t going to make anyone talk. Phillip immediately patted Terrance’s shoulder and mussed up his hair and beanie a little bit. Terrance recoiled slightly, but not enough to be worrisome.

“Why would you say that?” Phillip asked with a bright smile.

Terrance didn’t notice it, pulling up in front of Phillip’s house, a fairly average-sized one-story, painted white, with a nice car in the drive. He sighed. “Because I’m… you know.”

“Gay?” Phillip scoffed. “Why would that make me hate you?”

Terrance hesitated slightly, leaning back in the driver’s seat, turning off the car. “It’s happened before.”

Oh. Phillip found his light smile replaced with a very serious scowl. His first thought was how dare anyone judge him for – and then he remembered that when he met Terrance, the kid kept to himself to an insane degree and almost seemed afraid of personal contact. That suddenly made a hell of a lot more sense; if someone had treated him so poorly in Canada… he unbuckled his seatbelt and hugged Terrance tightly. Terrance initially squirmed, but finally, awkwardly, wrapped his arms around Phillip in return.

“You’re my best friend, buddy. Okay? Nothing would change that,” Phillip told him.

“…not even me liking men?” Terrance responded quietly.

“No. Though it does explain your reluctance to stay with Bebe…”

“Jesus, don’t even…” Terrance began to laugh, but in that laughter began to cry a little bit. Phillip undid his best friend’s seatbelt and held him even closer, unsurprised that Terrance latched onto him, reciprocating more effusively than before. Phillip wasn’t sure what the right question, out of the thousands going through his head, was the right one to ask. Thankfully, Terrance actually said something.

“…How’d he figure it out?” Terrance asked.

“Let’s not think about it,” Phillip responded, letting go. “You want to stay the night? I’m sure my mother won’t mind.”

Terrance nodded lightly, smiling gratefully. “…thank you.”

“Hey, anything for my best friend.”

.

“Dude, you broke him.”

Bebe’s living room had become a war zone, bodies strewn across floors, on couches, sober people hurriedly running out of the house. Most of the sober people had left – the only one left was Eric Cartman, dealing with Kenny, who was still pounding beer and not sounding or looking worse for the wear. Eric sat on the couch next to a splayed-out Stan, who kept pulling at his waist and calling him ‘Wendy’. The teen was ignoring as best he could, focused more on Kenny sitting down next to him, most of his clothes shed off somewhere. Eric stared blankly at the wall in front of him.

“What?” Eric asked in his dark drawl.

Kenny took another draught of what had to be his thirtieth Coors. “Terrance. You seriously broke him.”

“…are you judging me, or…?”

“Nah. He’s a bit of a weird one. The girls love him, though. They ain’t gonna be pleased with you when they wake up.” Kenny shook his head, blonde hair tousling. “What’d he do?”

Eric raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. He just… pisses me off.”

“…I don’t think Terrance is capable of pissing anyone off –”

“He’s a fucking fag, Kenny.”

“…no he’s not.”

“He’s a faggoty little queer and acts like a fucking hypocrite about it. Not dating Phillip, my ass.”

Kenny began to look worried, putting his beer down and staring at Eric seriously. “…Cartman, what the fuck are you trying to say?”

Eric’s glare, cold and unfeeling, softened a bit under Kenny’s visage. When they were kids and used to play superheroes, Eric would never admit that seeing Kenny underneath the shade of that Mysterion mantle seriously freaked him out. It was a similar situation now – the two of them, still best friends despite their numerous differences, tied together because of a few shared secrets, with Kenny staring Eric down in an effort to get him to cool himself.

At least, until a moment passed and Kenny’s face paled. “Oh no. Not him.”

“What the fucking hell does that mean, Kiineh?”

“He’s probably not even –”

“He has a look,” Eric said ominously.

“A look?! Fuck, Cartman, do you have a look?!”

“Not like that, you idiot –”

“Like what, then?”

Kenny had gone from concerned to exasperated in a matter of seconds, his beer can crumpling in his fist. Eric narrowed his eyes at Kenny before staring back at the wall.

“He was mortified.”

“Shock,” Kenny snapped.

“But if I kissed you, what would you be?”

“Annoyed.”

“…not mortified. He’s hiding it.”

“…not everyone has the benefit of being as despised as you,” Kenny reminded Eric harshly. 

“He’s –”

“Probably trying to erase the memory from his mind.”

Eric stared at the wall a few more seconds before leaning back into Stan’s legs, prompting another round of him, in his completely zoned, inebriated manner, to grab at Eric’s belt loops and ask Wendy why she was being so difficult. Eric shook it off.

“Dude, not him,” Kenny said once more.

“Why?”

“He’s fucking off. There’s something really off about the both of them, and it’s not the fact that Terrance might be gay. He’s weird.”

Kenny would know about problems. Eric raised an eyebrow drolly. “Yes, because your constant deaths are completely normal.”

Kenny winced before glaring at Eric. “You’re like the fucking weirdness magnet, is all I’m saying. Better hope he turns out to be half as insane as you if you want to live.”

“What is he, a murderer? Jesus Christ, Kiineh, shut up and drink more beer.”

“I should be dead in a few minutes.”

“Finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I like dragging things out, apparently, now you have everything mentioned in the actual story summary! Wow. Otherwise, thanks for reading again!


	4. you made a fool out of me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People stare awkwardly at each other while Canadians share lunch.

Monday was not nearly as bad as Terrance thought it would be. Most of the people who had been at Bebe’s party were so ragingly drunk that they’d blacked out the evening, and the people who did remember it seemed to recall Bebe dry-humping Craig a lot more vividly than they remembered Eric being an asshole. After a while, Phillip reminded him before homeroom, all the events seemed to blend together.

It didn’t stop Terrance from being uncomfortable in the only class he shared with Eric, biology. Terrance was shit at biology, and it didn’t help that it was being taught by Mr. Garrison, who was legitimately insane and referred to Terrance on more than one occasion as a whore, for no conceivable reason. Sharing his lab desk with Wendy, the two of them were supposed to be observing their own cheek scrapings underneath high-powered microscopes. Neither of them were really focused on what they were doing.

“I feel bad for unloading all of my drama on you two at the party,” Wendy told Terrance. “I mean, that’s not what you’re my friends for, and that was uncalled for.”

“Not a problem,” Terrance said distractedly, trying very hard to put a cover slip onto a microscope slide without wrecking it for a third time. Wendy had the patience of a saint with Terrance. He should apologize to her more often than she to him.

“But honestly, it was so stupid to get worked up about it! He lives down the street from Adam –”

“Adam?”

“The tall goth kid.”

Terrance didn’t realize he had a name. “Oh. He does?”

“Yeah. I was overly worried. I didn’t think… you know, it’s just a bad time for me, I’ve been all over the place… and I took it out on him to deal with my own insecurities about the future and where everything is heading…”

“You think about the future?” Terrance asked, almost startled. Managing to put the cover slip onto the slide, he handed it to Wendy, who began to prep the microscope.

“Terrance. There’s a year of high school left. This is our last week of junior year.” Wendy glared at him severely, her dark hair once again glossy and perfectly coifed as it fell over her shoulder. Terrance was already having major anxiety issues sitting in the same class as the guy who manipulated him into kissing him, and was probably waiting for the right time to reveal that he had pictures, and Wendy had to bring up the future. Truth was, Terrance was only good at being funny with Phillip. And remembering synonyms and antonyms. The future was a weird nebulous thing, and the only thing Terrance was really sure of was that Phillip and him would probably still be making their show.

“…what’s got you worried about the future, though?”

The less-than-clever deflection seemed to work. Wendy launched into a rather lengthy explanation of how she wasn’t sure if she should embrace her liberal leanings and apply to colleges that would cater to that, or if she should look for the best program with politics being damned in the process, her words keeping Terrance from letting his mind wander. But after a few minutes of politely nodding and watching her fiddle with microscope dials, his eyes trailed upward to the other side of the classroom, where Butters and Eric were peering into the microscope in turn.

Terrance knew Eric was an ass. It was pretty obvious before the party, and was plainly obvious in its aftermath. But Terrance really couldn’t stop himself from staring sometimes, because he was miles beyond what anyone else in this school could ever hope to achieve, besides Phillip. But there was a marked difference there. Phillip looked very much like a teen idol. Eric looked like a fucking man. 

And then Terrance realized Eric was staring back at him.

Terrance quickly moved his eyes back to Wendy, who was still talking about the relative benefits of doing activism in addition to law, compared to doing law with a side of activism. Wendy was easy to follow. She shoved the microscope over to Terrance with a smile, telling him that his cheek cells looked cute. Terrance had to admit, they were kind of cute, in a strange way. Little flake-like objects with big red dots in the center, from the dye put onto the glob of cheek scrapings. Only Wendy would verbalize what Terrance couldn’t say.

“Those are animal cells, then,” Terrance said.

“Yeah,” Wendy responded. “Dead ones, but yes. You’re retaining something from this class, that’s impressive.”

Something other than conflicted emotions over an asshole? “…yeah.”

.

“Children my age are so immature,” Ike Broflovski said as he took a seat on the bleachers next to Phillip that lunch period.

Phillip knew that some people wondered why he associated with a thirteen-year-old boy genius at all. For starters, Phillip could get a computer hard-wired into his brain and still be dumber than Ike. There was an obvious age disparity. Ike was far more athletic and free-wheeling than the reserved, indoorsy Phillip. But they had a shared kinship, and the two of them tended to have the same problems.

“Tell me about it,” Phillip said dryly. “What’s got you all tied up?”

“Filmore. That guy I’m on the hockey team with? He and Flora had another fight over the amount of time he spends at hockey. Can’t they see that neither of them can do anything about that? It’s the faculty’s decision.” Ike threw up his hands, staring at the football field, watching Stan run some drills with his teammates. Phillip watched the play go off without a hitch – ten-yard gain, first down – before rolling his eyes at Ike.

“Love makes us all very dumb sometimes, Ike. I’m sure you’ll avoid it, but us mere mortals…”

Ike stuck his tongue out at Phillip. Sometimes it was blatantly obvious that Ike was very young for his grade – a soon-to-be sophomore while only thirteen was nothing to shake a stick at. “I just find it annoying, the things people get concerned about.”

“Guess I’m never telling you what makes me upset ever again.”

“Well, I can guess what’s on your mind right now,” Ike said cryptically.

“…oh you can?” Phillip asked, quirking an eyebrow. “What’s on my mind, genius guy?”

“Terrance and Eric,” Ike responded nonchalantly. Ignoring Phillip’s stunned reaction, he continued. “Kyle told me about it. Said it could’ve been a lot worse.”

“…I’m thinking less about Eric than I am about Terrance,” Phillip admitted. “But since the problems of man do not concern you –”

“Jesus, sorry, I meant the problems of dumbshits like Flora and Filmore! What about Terrance?” Ike asked, a frustrated blush rising on his cheek as he took a sip of his juice box.

Phillip sighed. “You can’t tell anyone, okay?” Phillip knew that was imperative, but he trusted Ike. The two of them had been through a lot since Phillip found himself dumped in a quiet mountain town unused to seeing Canadians or readers. It was just that this was Terrance’s secret, not Phillip’s. 

“Promise. Unless he murdered someone. Then I’ll feel obligated to inform the authorities.”

“Thanks Ike. No, it’s… Terrance is afraid that Eric was trying to out him.”

Ike stared confusedly at Phillip for a few seconds before speaking. “…What.”

“I didn’t know he was gay, either.”

“No, I mean… why the hell would he think that Eric Cartman forcibly kissing him would be some sort of clue to the school that he’s gay? Why does he even care in the first place? That weird foreign couple is gay,” Ike reminded Phillip.

“You’re calling them the weird foreign couple. Probably not what Terrance wants to be labeled…”

“…ah, you’re right. Enjoy it while it lasts,” Ike joked briefly before returning to the more serious discussion at hand. “But… why does he care?”

“He was terrified that I was going to hate him,” Phillip admitted, staring out at the football field again, focused on nothing in particular. “I worry about him.”

“Considering that he’d been tongue-molested by Cartman, he was probably terrified of the world,” Ike offered, draining his juice box and setting it aside gingerly. 

“I thought it would be a bad idea to bring it up.”

“Agreed. …how many people were wasted at that party?”

“Everyone but me, Terrance, your brother, Eric, and Butters.”

“Good old Butters.” 


	5. if there's a prize for rotten judgment...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Why do you hide it?"

Terrance lived across the street from Eric. He’d been saved the indignity of walking home near him for about a year now, being a seventeen-year-old with a car. Not many kids at South Park High possessed a car – him, Token, and Stan were the only males, and Red was the only female – and Terrance had never been gladder that he didn’t have to walk home than today. He was just frazzled. His mother knew something was a bit off, but Terrance definitely wasn’t ready to have that conversation with her. 

He pulled in front of his house, throwing his car door open and slamming it shut, the routine he went through with his piece of shit every day. Today was slightly different in that, in the time it took for Terrance to get out of his car and close the door, someone was waiting for him right outside his car. It didn’t take a genius, or someone who could detect subtle ironies, to figure out who.

“I think we need to talk,” Eric Cartman told Terrance, leaning against the hood of his car, making it creak slightly with the added weight. Terrance flipped a piece of long brown hair out of his face, narrowing his eyes at the other teen.

“No one remembers it anyways, no one will think you’re gay, you can move on with your life,” Terrance said robotically, trying to move around Eric. Eric stopped him with a simple, icy glare. He had that kind of power.

“That’s not something I really care about. “ Eric paused, frowning. “What I’m more interested in is why you don’t come clean.”

“Guy, you could blackmail so many other people with what happened at that party. I mean, Jenny Simons hooked up with –”

“I don’t care.”

Damn it. That was Terrance’s escape clause. To be fair, he had no idea what Eric was even trying to get him to do. That in itself was a bit terrifying. “…what do you want?”

“For you to tell me a few things.”

“Like what?”

“Why won’t you just admit that you and Phillip are fucking each other?”

Terrance narrowed his eyes at Eric, crossing his thin arms over his chest irritably. “Because we’re not. We’re best friends. If that’s all you want to –”

“Then who are you queer for?”

Terrance took a second to puzzle together what on earth Eric was trying to ask, and, upon receiving no rational explanation for it, let out a confused “huh?”

Eric had an explanation for himself, standing up and moving slightly away from the car. “If you’re gay, you gotta have some guy you like, then. Who is it?”

Terrance tried to move around him again. “Fuck off.”

“So you are gay,” Eric stated as Terrance walked onto the sidewalk. Terrance paused, the words shooting through him, turning his blood into ice water. At least he’d get to die in front of his house. Given all the slurs Eric used in everyday life, this was the point where Terrance got his face smashed in by something unpleasant. He sighed, barely turning his head to look at Eric.

“Yes.”

“I knew it.”

“You call everyone a… fag,” Terrance noted, visibly, painfully pausing before saying that word. He turned back towards his house, beginning to walk in. “You just made a lucky guess.”

Terrance heard Eric’s footsteps echoing behind him, but didn’t think anything of it until a hand grabbed his arm and flung Terrance around. Eric was staring down at him, frowning… but not in a hateful way. It was almost like he was… disappointed, or something. Terrance wasn’t going to cause himself more trouble, though. Maybe Terrance didn’t put up as much fight as Kyle did, but Kyle didn’t know to leave well enough alone sometimes.

“Why do you hide it?” Eric asked.

Terrance wasn’t expecting that one. He stared at Eric for a long time, trying to piece together what was happening before him, and not making any headway. He inhaled sharply before his eyes dropped to the melting snow on his lawn.

"…reasons.”

“That’s specific.”

“Why do you fucking care, Eric?!” Terrance practically shouted at him. “You already humiliated me, and I’d rather you not –”

“I only did that because you’re a fucking hypocrite!”

Terrance was left speechless, again. Talking to Eric was like sitting through an interview with Dan Quayle. “…what?!”

“You sit there pretending to be so straight and so above it all while you’re probably sitting around fucking your best friend or whatever the fuck you –”

“Jesus H. Tap-Dancing CHRIST, I am NOT fucking Phillip!”

“You could’ve fooled everyone!”

“Fuck you man!”

“Your debate skills astound me, Terrance, absolutely astound me.”

“What the fuck do you want?!” Terrance asked again, on the verge of trying to hit him. Eric paused, registering the look of pure disdain on Terrance’s face, and moved away from the teen, backing towards his own house. He still managed to look imposing while doing it.

“Just trying to figure out why you were staring at me in class,” Eric said, and walked straight back to his house.

Terrance watched his retreating frame, his mind now occupied with another million questions.


	6. i could be taking you there with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hearing that dumbass lie, justifying Eric’s homophobia and bullshit and violence and manipulation, got him mad."

Stan, Kyle, Kenny, and Eric spent that evening in Stan’s house, playing videogames on the newly re-designed Okama Gamesphere 4.0, none of them really saying anything that lingered on their minds. Kenny knew what had Eric so frustrated that he needed to take his anger out on a video game, but Stan seemed more at-ease than he did at the party, where he basically tried to latch on to whoever got near him, call them Wendy, and beg forgiveness. He must’ve found the actual Wendy at some point. Kyle’s constant state in Eric’s presence was irritation, so that was nothing new, honestly. The four of them began battling it out on a massive multi-series fighting game, all of them characters from differing games, shouting at each other and laughing and acting like it was old times. It kind of was – Wendy wasn’t here, for starters, and the four of them weren’t arguing. 

There’d been a bit of a schism in their tight-knit group as of late. Part of it was Wendy’s constant presence, but that was something that had been building for years. Stan would probably never date another woman, and the rest of them were finally getting used to it. But there were other things. Secrets. It all started when Eric told Kenny that he must be losing his mind, because he remembered the kid dying all the time, suddenly. Then a drunk Kyle told Stan who told Eric that he was completely afraid that Eric was going to kill him. And so on and so forth. The four of them were trying to hold onto something that might not be able to stay stitched together… it distressed Kenny a bit to know that Kyle and Stan, though they still thought of him as a close friend, probably judged him for being closer to Cartman, just as it distressed Cartman to think that Kenny might believe the things Kyle said. They were like a bunch of teenage girls. Much as the four of them made fun of the mind games the girls played in elementary school, they couldn’t avoid the same pratfalls.

Stan threw down his control in mock anger as Kyle, yet again, took another round. “Damn it! Why are you so good at this?”

“It’s not exactly a great accomplishment,” Kyle said, rolling his eyes as Stan got up.

“If you could kick ass in reality, too, that’d be awesome,” Eric shrugged, putting down his own controller. “But it’ll never happen, so.”

“What d’you mean, it’ll never happen? I could totally kick someone’s ass!” Kyle protested. Kenny slammed his head into the wall and let out an irritated moan, but the other two ignored him.

“If that person was like fucking three years old.”

“I would never hit a toddler, how -!”

“Your scrawny Jew ass is never going to –”

“Don’t call me a Jew!”

“It’s what you are you fucking dumb-shit!”

“I’m going to get snacks,” Stan said rather quickly, jumping up off of his perch on the floor.

“I’ll help,” Kenny immediately added, and the two of them shuffled into the kitchen as fast as humanly possible, ignoring the ever-escalating shouting match going on the next room over. Stan immediately dives into a cupboard above the sink, pulling out a family-sized bag of Cheesy Poofs. Kenny dove underneath the sink to find a Tupperware bowl. Stan and him had a system – despite the strain in their relationship, they were definitely on the same wavelength more often than Kyle and Cartman.

Stan grabbed the bag and moved to the counter, popping it open and sighing. “…dude, Kyle told me Cartman fucked with Terrance at the party.”

“…Fucked with as in…?” Kenny responded.

“Mind games.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, that’s true.”

“I’m a little worried about that,” Stan admitted. Kenny went to get a bag of pretzels in another cabinet.

“What about it?”

“How random it is.”

Kenny frowned. Well, Kenny couldn’t well say what he thought Eric’s reasoning was. He’d probably be sentenced to an eternity of dying for that. He simply took the chip clip off of the pretzel bag and grabbed another bowl. “…He’s opportunistic. I don’t think he’d planned it out too far in advance. Since it was Spin the Bottle and everything…”

The sounds of frenetic yelling were finally dying down. Kenny glanced in the living room. It looked like Kyle had just smacked Eric in the face, and a stunned silence was washing over them. Kenny turned back to Stan, who ignored the whole thing.

“Yeah, I know, but there was something… really fucking weird about it. From what I remember, anyways.”

“Well, Terrance is kind of –”

“He’s just skittish. Cartman was like… he seemed, to me…” Stan made a face, as if he couldn’t think of the right word. He poured the Cheesy Poofs into a bowl, Kenny staring blankly at him.

“…predatory?” Kenny finished.

“Sort of? But like… interested.”

“…like sex interested?”

“Like sex interested.”

Well, fuck. Kenny really didn’t know what to say to that, mostly because it was close to true. The yelling was beginning to pick up again, but Kyle was remaining steadfastly silent, a sign that the argument would soon end. Kenny frowned. “That’s not possible.”

“This is Cartman we’re talking about,” Stan offered, picking up his full snack bowl. “For all we know, he could be.”

Kenny watched Stan walk into the living room, immediately ramping up the fight as Cartman dove for a Cheesy Poof to fling at Kyle’s face. 

If Stan was thinking it, so were the people who remembered it. Kenny piled the pretzels into a bowl and frowned. It was only a matter of time before his efforts at getting back at Terrance would come back to bite him in the ass. In an unpleasant way, that was.

.

Terrance banged on the Cartman family’s door, aware that it was about nine at night and he was wearing mismatched sweaters and jackets and green drainpipe jeans. He had a sudden epiphany about how to deal with Eric – just tell the truth. It was twisted and crazy and it might be strange enough to get Eric off of his back. Why was Terrance staring at him? Because he was too attractive not to stare at. I hate you, but you’re pretty. Let’s see his atrophied brain try and figure that one out! In his haste, he hadn’t bothered to see if his layers actually matched, which they very clearly didn’t. Most people thought he was dotty anyways, and Eric was going to be his only audience. If Eric was so fixated on humiliating him, it would just be one more arrow in his quiver.

But it wasn’t Eric who answered the door. Terrance blinked upon seeing his mother, who… truth be told, he’d seen maybe twice since he moved here. She was fairly pretty, with short brown hair and pale skin. She was the kind of person that was probably an incredible beauty in her youth, much like Terrance’s own mother. Terrance blinked.

“Oh hello Terrance!” Eric’s mother said with a chirp and a grin. Terrance had no idea how the woman knew his name, but didn’t think much of it. “What can I help you with?”

“…is your son home?” Terrance asked as blankly as he could.

“Oh, no. He’s at Stanley’s house. I could –”

“No,” Terrance cut her off quickly. “…no, that’s fine. I’ll just… I’ll see him tomorrow at school. It’s not very important.”

“Well, all right,” Eric’s mother nodded. “Have a good night.”

She smiled again as Terrance, giving her a fairly awkward smile back, moved to return to his own house. Well. That worked out tremendously.

.

Kyle fumed silently, walking home by himself, as he was wont to do. Kenny and Eric went in the other direction, towards both of their houses, discussing something in very hushed, somewhat disturbed tones. Whatever. Kyle didn’t fucking care anymore. Too long he’d let Eric traipse around him, acting like he could get away with anything and no one would care. At this point, Kyle knew, he was right. The people of South Park were so desensitized to his words and actions that they took nothing he did seriously, unless it looked like someone might die. Eric did terrible things. Everyone just moved on. 

Except Kyle. Was Kyle really the only one concerned about how Eric was treating Terrance? Kyle didn’t want to presume anything about Terrance, someone he only knew in passing, but Eric was a steamroller. Much as people could protest that he was a little less homicidal and confrontational now than he had been in his youth, he still retained that ability to overpower anyone with his words, to manipulate people into being his puppets. There was no doubt in Kyle’s mind that’s what Eric was doing to Terrance – taking someone that he figured he could mold easily and doing just that.

Kyle knew Eric. He knew the worst of Eric, the best of Eric, and all the muck in-between. And there was no way in hell Kyle was letting him get away with this. It was bad enough that he’d freaked Terrance out considerably – Terrance looked a bit wonky most of the time anyways, but Kyle was perceptive and Wendy was talkative – but his excuse for it all, his justifying words, were sickening. 

Eric pulled the same excuse once before, over something completely unrelated. He’d been acting off for a few days, and all of a sudden, he took all four of his friends at the time – Stan, Kenny, Butters, and himself – and called himself a fag. It was ridiculous. They treated it as such… well, except Butters, who didn’t really know what to do and found himself drifting away from the group. Probably Eric’s intention the whole time, Kyle had realized later, to manipulate Butters into not talking to them or something. Using that same excuse to justify whatever the fuck it was Eric was doing to Terrance was fucked-up, especially because it was a fairly poorly-kept secret that, besides Gregory Wilkinson and Christophe Thernardier, Terrance Stoot was the only other gay student at South Park High. True, he’d never come out officially, Kyle thought, shoving his hands into his pockets, breath crystallizing around him as he wandered up his street. But everyone knew.

Kyle couldn’t help it. Hearing that dumbass lie, justifying Eric’s homophobia and bullshit and violence and manipulation, got him mad, madder than he’d been in recent memory. He smacked Eric. Hard. In Stan’s house. Yeah, Kyle couldn’t kick anyone’s ass, could he? The two of them were a bit stunned afterwards, but Kyle knew he made the right choice. If that smack made Eric leave Terrance alone, everything would be good. If not, Kyle, again, by himself, the only one who cared enough to notice that Eric was still completely fucking insane, would have to take matters into his own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing the boys. It's hard, given that they aren't the focus of this story, but one of these days, I'll have to make a main boys fic or something.


	7. that's me in the corner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Why not just sit down and complain about your simple problems as always?” (aka: The Goth Kids psychoanalyze Stan)

“He _what?!_ "

Thank God most people in homeroom were pretty loud before class started. Phillip was surprised at his own outburst, almost clamping a hand over his mouth, but what he was hearing sounded… frankly unbelievable. It made about as much sense to Terrance as it did to Phillip, judging from his confused face. No wonder Phillip hadn’t heard from his best friend last night.

“I’m telling you – Eric cornered me in front of my house, asked me who I was –” Terrance glanced around before lowering his voice, not that it was necessary. “ – who I was gay for –”

“What.”

“Yeah, he’s woefully unaware of how being gay works, which is unsurprising… well he asked me that, and then managed to manipulate me into coming out to him, and then asked me why I look at him during biology.”

“…what the fuck?!” Phillip said. No matter how many times Terrance repeated the story, it just seemed so weird. Phillip had the benefit of seeing Eric Cartman in action as a child, and the kid was a complete sociopath. There was that time that he killed his own stuffed animals in a schizophrenic rage without knowing what his other personality was even doing. Or the time he got Sarah Jessica Parker killed. Or the time he managed to master Fire-Bending, something that no one had ever figured out or wanted to even delve further into. There was some sort of plan in place, and Phillip, frankly, was worried.

Terrance nodded. “I tried to go over there last night to just… kind of yell at him, but it… didn’t quite work.”

“What’d he do?”

“He wasn’t home.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Terrance pulled on his dark red sweater, glancing around awkwardly. Bebe was definitely being much louder in talking to Red and Wendy than he was about his life crisis, but Phillip supposed he felt the need to be secretive. It must be hard, he reasoned, being closeted for years and then all of a sudden, you were out to two people without really intending to be out. Phillip put a hand on Terrance’s, smiling at him.

“Look. If he tries anything, I will kick his ass,” Phillip informed Terrance. “I’ll kick it so hard that he’ll have a bootprint on it, and it’ll scar over, and whatever poor unfortunate prostitute he ends up marrying will always be like, ‘what’s up with that boot on your ass?’ and he’ll be all ‘shut up bitch’ but in reality he will rue it.” Terrance stared at him blankly. “I’m working on my English, too.”

“That was a fucking run-on sentence. Try harder,” Terrance joked. He smirked, glancing at his hand beneath Phillip’s, his face suddenly sinking. Phillip blinked.

“What’s wrong?”

“…what if he tells people? What if he is trying to…?”

“I will still kick his ass,” Phillip informed Terrance. “If he ever hurts you, he’s going down.”

“He’s way bigger than you, Phillip. He’d probably kill you.”

“Then I will die knowing that he’ll get life in prison for it.”

Terrance shook his head, smirking and laughing slightly, turning his hand over to give Phillip’s a tight squeeze. Phillip felt a smile grow on his face. He was glad that he could be around for Terrance. Sometimes it seemed like there were weights on him that he would never understand, but at least he was helping, in his ignorance.

“I’m definitely going to yell at him today,” Terrance told Phillip, “and I will inform you if you need to get out your boots.”

Phillip nodded, smiling back at him. “You better, guy.”

.

Stan Marsh knew that he shouldn’t be doing this. He knew that people always began to ask questions about him and his state of mind whenever he visited the foursome that held court behind the 7-11 a block from the high school, but damn it, they gave the best advice, albeit backhandedly and with plenty of sneering. They were smart, the Goth kids. Even though everyone, from Kyle to his lovely girlfriend Wendy to his teachers and counselors, disapproved of it, Stan couldn’t go to anyone else. His attempts to clue Kenny in to his worries were useless, and Stan wasn’t going to go to Kyle. Kyle was already infuriated about it. And besides… Stan was worried about something slightly different from Kyle.

Wandering into the desolate area, Stan’s blue drainpipe jeans and red flannel shirt stood out immediately compared to the area’s other occupants. Four pairs of eyes drifted over to him, staring at him through wafting cigarette smoke, blowing in the icy wind around them. Stan stifled the urge to cough and waved at them. “Hey.”

A heavy-set female with heavily lidded blue eyes and pale skin rolled her eyes at the greeting, sitting delicately with her legs folded underneath her and her black ruffled skirt flowing on the concrete around her. “What a conformist greeting, Raven.”

“She’s right, you know,” a tinier teenager said. He was skinny as a twig, could probably give Terrance a run for his money, and accentuated it by wearing tight black drainpipe jeans and a fitted dark shirt. His hair fell into his face, accentuating how mature he looked, despite his voice still retaining a childish pitch. “Why not just sit down and complain about your simple problems as always?”

“Calm down, guys,” another teen with red highlights in his hair admonished, lighting up another cigarette immediately after stamping one out with his Cuban heels. “Maybe he has a less simple problem for us.”

The last goth kid, a tall boy with curly black hair tumbling into his eyes, said nothing, keeping his gray eyes trained on Stan as he continued to smoke. Stan put his hands in his pockets. Yep. They would give him good advice, but they sure as hell weren’t going to do it willingly.

“I do have a problem,” Stan admitted.

“I’m not shocked,” the smallest goth said.

“Georgie,” the lone female cautioned ominously. Georgie frowned visibly at her, licking his lips irritably, before turning back to Stan.

“It’s got nothing to do with me, actually,” Stan admitted, “but I’m wondering if I should get involved.”

“What insignificant problem has the school-kids all atwitter?” the red-headed goth asked, his voice more even-keel than the other three who had spoken. Stan appreciated the lightness he took – compared to the other three, the red-head, Dylan, was much easier to deal with, and seemed genuinely concerned with Stan’s well-being… if no one else’s. The curly-haired goth glanced at Dylan quickly before taking another drag of his cigarette; all four of the goths were now staring at Stan as he sat down in front of them, on the cold concrete. A chill immediately rattled up Stan’s spine, but he tried not to show it.

“Did you hear about Bebe Stevens’ party?” Stan asked.

“Who?” the curly-haired goth asked, his voice rougher and lower than the others’.

“The blonde girl,” Georgie reminded him with an audible note of disdain.

“With the tits,” the woman helpfully offered.

“That’s specific, thanks guys.” The curly-haired goth rolled his eyes.

“Head cheerleader, Adam,” Dylan said.

“…oh.” He stamped out his cigarette. “She had a party, okay.”

“Yeah,” Stan agreed, taking the floor back as soon as he could. If he let the goths keep talking, they would probably get fixated on how conformist cheerleading, parties, and/or tits were. It didn’t bother Stan too much, but he had a lot to get off of his chest, a lot of what the goths would call insignificant worries of someone brainwashed by the masses. The scent of smoke was starting to get to him a bit, though. Wasn’t gonna lie. “And at that party, a friend of mine kissed another friend of mine.”

“…and?” Georgie asked after Stan took an ill-advised thoughtful pause. “Haven’t you kissed your girlfriend, Marsh?”

“I was trying to figure out what to say!” Stan protested, a bit miffed at the attack on his manhood.

“Ignore him,” the woman said.

“Henrietta -!”

“You were saying, Marsh,” Henrietta continued, ignoring Georgie’s wide-eyed protestation. Georgie, in response, glared at Stan, eyeliner-rimmed eyes looking particularly fearsome. Stan swallowed a bit of fear before continuing.

“They’re both guys,” Stan said, ignoring Georgie’s twitching frown, “but one of them’s lied about being gay before, and the other guy… I just worry about him in general, he’s kind of socially awkward. Great guy, but awkward as fuck.” Stan sighed. “But now I’m starting to worry about the other guy, too. I mean, what if he wasn’t lying and we just assumed he was because he’s an ass?”

Georgie’s eyes were practically slits. “…what are you even asking, Marsh?”

Stan frowned at him. He and Georgie were probably on the worst terms, but Stan could never figure out why. It was like Georgie envied something about Stan, and was responding in the most petulant manner possible… but Stan figured he was reading too much into it. Georgie was probably the only one who legitimately hated him and thought his problems were stupid. The others might decry conformity and the traditional high school experience, but Stan gave them a connection to something they, maybe not as long ago as they pretended, wanted. Georgie, for whatever reason, didn’t want that connection.

“It’s dividing my friends, I can tell. Well… dividing them worse.” Stan could see Adam light another cigarette from the corner of his eye. “And I think that maybe we’ve got it all wrong, that we should just… but if he is lying, then things could end very badly… but if he’s not…” Stan trailed off. He couldn’t quite verbalize the worry clawing at him – that no matter what course of action he took regarding whatever Eric was doing, it would end in disaster. Stan just didn’t know how to handle Eric anymore. He feared the teen, loathed him, liked him well enough, and wanted to believe that he really had been telling the truth about his sexuality. But Butters leaving their group shortly afterwards, the fact that it never got brought up again – that made him worry, too. The contradictions made him sick to his stomach with worry.

Henrietta, holding a long cigarette holder between her tapered fingers, frowned a bit. “You want to make the right decision but don’t know what that is.”

“Exactly.”

“Sounds like you only know the liar,” Henrietta noted.

“The other kid could be just as bad. It could be the exact opposite of what you say,” Dylan offered. “Or they could both be secretly evil.”

“Or they could not want any interference from some preppy poseur,” Georgie offered in a low voice.

“That doesn’t help,” Stan admitted, pulling his arms around his legs.

Adam took the cigarette from his mouth, looking at Stan for a few seconds. “Look. Is there anything you can really do about the situation without causing more problems?”

Stan thought for a second. “…probably not.”

“Then stay out of it. Most of your conformist problems would go away if you didn’t feel the compulsion to stick your nose in things,” Adam chided. 

Stan knew that Adam had a point. Adam always had _the_ point. It was like he had the world pegged, and just needed to sit there and listen to a problem spin its wheels for a bit before hitting on what would make everything better. It was why Stan liked visiting his house down the street, because the guy just knew things. Stan sat still for a second before nodding.

“…that sounds right,” Stan noted.

“Of course it is,” Georgie said with an irritable sigh. “Are you ever going to leave?”

Stan stood up, nodding to them, his own subtle thank-you, before heeding Georgie’s words. Being shanked wasn’t high on his priorities list.

.

Biology would’ve been the perfect time to psych out Eric, but Tweek had to go and have a major freak-out over getting blue dye on his shirt and then assume he would become a target for the underpants gnomes. Everyone’s attention was successfully diverted, Wendy began to speak to him about how worried she was that Tweek wasn’t getting psychiatric care, and that whole period became a bust. By now, Terrance was practically jittery. He didn’t relish the task, and had a feeling that, for the momentary pleasure it would give him to freak Eric out, by week’s end it would become an all-out war.

Terrance found himself in the library during free period, looking for an interesting book. He’d just finished a large book of interviews with comedians, and wanted something out of that vein. Inspecting the true crime section of the school library, his eyes trailed over lurid titles, a good number of which he’d already read. The librarian was beginning to suspect he was insane, but when you lived in South Park, the problems of real people in normal towns were almost soothing in comparison. His eyes fell onto a rather large book he hadn’t read before, one about murder at the World’s Fair some hundred-odd years ago.

“It’s well-written.”

Jesus. Just when he thought he’d get some peace and quiet, Eric had to – Eric? Terrance turned to look at him, hair falling in his face a bit.

“…yeah?” Terrance asked incredulously. Eric was shelving books in the unit behind him, talking to him through thin slivers of light between rows of novels. Terrance didn’t realize he volunteered in the library, despite being here all the time.

“Better than the other one you read last week about the Manson killings.”

…okay, that went beyond weird. “You know what books I check out?”

“Yeah.” Eric was not being very helpful with his explanations, re-shelving ‘Go Ask Alice’ without much thought. “You’re here all the time.”

“I never see you here.”

“You’re unobservant outside of biology, apparently.”

How nice of Eric to bring up that topic in the middle of a crowded library where all Terrance could do was whisper. What a jerk. Albeit a jerk whose efforts to put books on the top shelf were making his pants slide down… oh for fuck’s sake, focus, Terrance. He went back to looking at his true crime novels…

…until he realized that he might be able to inflict more confusion this way. Eric Cartman was destroying his week, and Terrance wanted some sort of revenge for it, petty as that sounded. He hated getting walked all over, and though he would usually slink into the shadows, now was not one of those times. Eric could out him, or beat him, or whatever, but Terrance was going to go out in a blaze of… glory was the wrong word, but something like that.

“You want to know why I was staring at you?” Terrance asked as nonchalantly as possible.

“Why not,” Eric responded, just as blasé. Terrance was pointedly not looking at him, pulling out a book on the crimes of FDLS prophet Warren Jeffs.

“Because you’re hot.”

Terrance continued getting his book like nothing was happening, but was aware of the crushing silence from behind him. A smile worked its way onto his face, glancing at the back cover of the new book as if it was the most thrilling thing he’d ever read in his life. In reality, he was just trying to imagine what the look on Eric’s face was. Stunned, probably. Maybe he was red in the face. Flustered. Served the guy right. Probably confirm all of his stupid stereotypes – the gay kid likes all the straight guys, doesn’t he? Point to Stoot.

“…are you seriously?” Eric finally said.

Terrance felt his smile grow wider and a little more wicked. “I’m seriously.” Yes, the eventual book to the back of the head would be painful, but the tremble in Eric’s voice was just so funny. God forbid anyone not female show an interest! Terrance was so close to bursting out laughing, imagining just how contorted in anger Eric’s face would get –

A pair of arms wrapped around Terrance’s waist tightly, and a serious, harsh whisper began echoing in his ear. “You better not be joking right now, Stoot, I swear to fucking God.”

Terrance’s smile disappeared immediately. On one hand, Eric’s arms were fairly sturdy, strong, warm. He wasn’t trying to crush his ribcage or anything… he was just holding him. The thought brought a bit of a blush to Terrance’s face. …why was this happening, again? 

“…I’m not,” Terrance finally managed to say, getting through his surprise, his voice very quiet. “Your personality is vile, but you’re attractive. Why are you -?”

“Well, you have the personality of a rock, but you’re pretty,” was Eric’s snippy response.

Terrance didn’t think it was possible to be more confused, but, evidently, it was. He finally glanced at Eric, who was just staring at him, leaning his head on the other teen’s shoulder. 

“…you call me slurs,” Terrance responded, since it was the first thing out of his mouth. Thankfully, he hadn’t said anything particularly embarrassing, like ‘Phillip’s gonna kick your ass’ or ‘you smell really nice’. 

“Well, you _are_ a fag. Like me.”

Terrance couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped his books onto one of the shelves, extricated himself from Eric’s arms, and walked away as fast as he could, striding out of the library and running off to God knows where. He figured showing up to his last class would be pointless while he was in this mood.

So much for humiliating Eric. No one had gotten humiliated there. There was pre-library, and now there was post-library, and… and… 

Eric was gay. That should’ve made everything clearer, Terrance realized as he ran down a staircase and past the administration building, into the parking lot, but… there was so much that didn’t make sense. He thought that you were gay only when you liked a man? He didn’t realize that fag was a slur? He thought Terrance was pretty?

Terrance slid into his car and slammed his door closed harder than necessary. Moving to put his key in the ignition, he stopped, freezing for a second before leaning against the steering wheel and letting out a long, irritated growl. Getting beat up was something he could deal with. Indifference was something he could’ve dealt with, too.

A mutual physical attraction? No. No, that was too much.


End file.
